


Touch me

by bluejbird



Series: Astray [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Mirror Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejbird/pseuds/bluejbird
Summary: Betty wants Veronica to touch her. And she finds that she enjoys watching it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a continuation of the previous story in the series, or as a stand alone.

Betty looks at her own reflection about as often as the average American girl, which is exactly what she is. Average. She knows she’s not drop dead gorgeous, that there’s nothing remarkable about her looks, and for the most part she’s okay with that. So without a whole lot to look at, her mirror glances are usually quick – checking her makeup, tightening her ponytail, and, occasionally, giving herself a pep talk to be just a little bit more courageous. 

Her bedroom vanity, where most of the pep talks occur, holds photographs of happy memories, makeup and perfume and jewellery, and now a large bouquet of yellow roses. 

“Do you like them?” Veronica asks, breath tickling Betty’s ear. 

Betty bites her lip and nods. She doesn’t quite trust her voice, not when she can feel the length of Veronica’s body pressed behind her. In their reflection, Veronica is watching Betty, eyes dark, sultry, predatory. 

Betty never thought she’d enjoy being the prey. Not until she met Veronica. 

Veronica’s arms slide around her waist, rucking up Betty’s blouse. Betty watches the slow slide of Veronica’s hand across her stomach, moving higher and higher until her fingertips dance just beneath Betty’s bra, tantalising and teasing, making her shiver.

Veronica’s hand slides downwards, and Betty’s abdominal muscles tense and quiver beneath the touch, shivering again as Veronica presses a kiss to her neck. 

“God, Betty,” Veronica breathes. “You’re so beautiful.”

Betty wants to protest. Veronica is the beautiful one, and she can’t quite understand what draws Veronica to her. It’s not something she wants to question too much, because she likes Veronica’s attention, likes Veronica’s company, likes what Veronica’s touch awakens in her. 

Both of Veronica’s hands slide down, popping open the button on Betty’s jeans. One hand grasps the waistband as the other slowly eases down the zipper. Betty holds her breath as she watches the pull of Veronica’s fingers, feels the steady judder of the golden teeth opening up. 

“ _ So _ beautiful,” Veronica repeats, hooking her thumbs into the denim and slowly easing them down. 

Betty helps without thinking, shifting her hips, letting the fabric to fall. 

In the mirror, Veronica lips her lips. Her eyes are dark, hungry, and her hands hover above Betty’s hips, as if she’s not sure she’s allowed to continue touching. It’s a rare moment of uncertainty, and it makes Betty’s heart ache, sharp and sudden. 

She grasps Veronica’s hands in hers, pressing them against the jut of her hipbones. 

“Please,” Betty says. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Veronica winks. 

“Since you ask so nicely,” she says, and slides one hand to cup between Betty’s legs, over the fabric of her panties. 

Even though it’s not unexpected Betty starts, twitches, looks away. This is the first time a hand other than her own has explored there, and the thoughts and emotions are a messy tangle in her mind. 

Veronica has gone as still as a statue at Betty’s reaction, but she doesn’t pull her hand away.  

“Betty?” Veronica’s voice is hesitant, unsure. 

“It’s okay,” Betty says, lifting her chin to meet Veronica’s eyes in the mirror. Because she wants this, wants Veronica, doesn’t want this delicate thing they have to stop. And more importantly, she wants Veronica to touch her like no one ever has. “ _I’m_ okay.”

Veronica doesn’t seem convinced until Betty rocks her hips forward, pressing against Veronica’s hand. 

She’s rewarded with the slow spread of a smile across Veronica’s face, lighting her up.

“Yeah,” Veronica says. “I guess so.”

She pulls her hand away, and Betty makes a protesting noise, confused. She’d made it clear to Veronica that she wanted this, hadn’t she? 

“Ve-” she starts, but then Veronica’s fingers toy against the fabric of her panties again. Betty’s breath hitches as she watches Veronica’s movements in the mirror. The dark painted fingernails slip beneath the white cotton, brushing over her skin underneath. 

“Still okay?” Veronica whispers, and Betty swallows hard and nods, not trusting her voice. 

The touch is tentative and slow at first, only increasing in intensity and speed when Betty gasps and presses into the touch. Veronica’s fingers curve against and inside her, and Betty’s knees buckle. 

She tips forward, hands out to catch herself, and her palms slap against the edge of the vanity. Lipgloss tubes and makeup brushes scatter, several rolling off the edge to land with a soft thump on the carpeted floor, and Veronica’s bouquet shifts ominously, threatens to tip before settling back into place.   

Veronica’s hand still cups her, the other splayed across Betty’s rib cage, holding her in place, keeping her from falling. 

“I’m okay,” Betty says, before Veronica can ask. She appreciates Veronica’s patience, the slow ease into things, but she’s not a china doll that will break under the slightest pressure. “Don’t stop,” she adds, hearing the begging in her voice and not caring. Veronica smiles against her neck and keeps on with the steady movement of her hand. 

There aren’t words to describe the feeling building inside of her. It’s as if every wonderful feeling she’s ever experienced is being relived between her thighs, under the pressure of Veronica’s fingers. Betty wants the feeling to last forever, and at the same time, she wants it to reach a crescendo, to radiate out along her limbs, to make her forget how to breathe. 

Veronica’s fingers are clever, as if she’s done this a thousand times before. The thought makes a stab of something bitter and angry flash through Betty, and she doesn’t quite know why. She could ask Veronica how many times she’s done this, with how many girls, and she knows Veronica would answer truthfully. And much like with the whole seven minutes in heaven debacle, Betty isn’t sure whether knowing or not knowing is worse. 

So she keeps her mouth shut, bites down on the groan that is threatening to spill out of her mouth, and focuses on the beautiful, wonderful movement of Veronica’s hand. When she lifts her head, she can still see their reflections, Veronica’s eyes almost closed, her own eyes surprised and darker than normal. She can see the outline of Veronica’s fingers moving, hidden by her panties, and she wishes fabric wasn’t there to obscure her view. She’d push them away herself, but she’s pretty sure she’s lost the ability to stand on her own, and moving away from the support of the vanity might mean complete disaster. Plus she’s not sure she’s entirely ready to see Veronica’s long fingers sliding in and out of her. The feeling of the intimacy is almost overwhelming, so to see it reflected back in the mirror might shatter what self restraint she has left. 

Veronica’s thumb presses and rubs and teases in just the right place, and Betty’s arm muscles tense tightly to keep her upright. It’s almost too much, and she rolls her hips back, feeling Veronica pressed behind her, hips rolling up to rub against her ass, pushing her back into the touch. And, really, it’s too much and not enough at the same time. Contradictory, like so many things in Betty’s life. 

“Like that?” Veronica asks, grinding up against her, and all Betty can answer with is a muffled gasp, because there is something growing taut and tense inside her and it’s so close, so very close to snapping and coming completely undone and all it’s going to take is–

Veronica’s hand moves again, and Betty doesn’t know exactly what happens because her brain short circuits for a moment. 

Her toes curl, sparks of electricity juddering along her arms and down her legs, and she knows they’re about to give out. But Veronica fingers are still splayed across her rib cage, holding her up, keeping her in place, not letting her fall. Strong and secure and something that Betty can trust in.

The pleasure rolls over Betty like a wave. For that moment nothing else in the world exists other than Veronica’s tender touch, Veronica’s soft and satisfied moans in her ear, and the sight of Betty’s own face staring back from the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted. 

Veronica’s hips stop their stuttering roll and her hand stills but stays in place, keeping their bodies connected. Betty feels a surge of regret when she slides her hand away and eases them apart. 

“I’m gonna guess you enjoyed that,” Veronica says, sounding just a little bit smug, “but correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Are you serious?” Betty pushes herself away from the vanity, turning around. She props herself against it though, not quite trusting her legs yet. There are lingering darts of pleasure zipping through her body, and her heart is aching in a way that feels awful and perfect at the same time. She wonders if this is normal, if this is how everyone feels, or if it’s just Veronica. A sample of two times, with the same person, wouldn’t earn her the usual A+s in science class, but she finds she’s not all that interested in testing the hypothesis with anyone else. At least not right now. 

Veronica gives an easy shrug. “Worth checking. I should be going though.”

Betty frowns. “Did you...but you didn’t...um.” Her cheeks flame red, and she hates that. She hates that she’s had Veronica’s fingers inside her and she still can’t bring herself to say things like this out loud.

Veronica looks relaxed and on edge in equal measures as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Another time,” she says. 

Maybe it’s not her intention, but what Betty hears in those two words are ‘you’re not ready’ and ‘going too fast’ and ‘too soon.” And it frustrates her, because yes, this is all brand new to her, but she’s not a child and she’s not (that) scared, and she’s a quick learner. And she’s also not an asshole who just leaves someone hanging.

“Veronica, come on, let me try–”

Veronica leans in, slides their lips together, licks into Betty’s mouth to explore, and Betty completely forgets what she’s going to say. Veronica tastes like chocolate milkshake and cherry lipgloss and the good kind of dangerous. Betty’s glad she’s half sitting down, because Veronica leans into her, grinding their bodies together and it makes Betty want to manhandle her towards the bed and do something, anything, to feel those sparks of pleasure again, and to make Veronica feel them too. 

“Orgasms are great,” Veronica says when she pulls back, standing up and leaving a little space between them. “But sometimes the anticipation of them can be just as good.”

Betty reaches out tentatively, slides her hands up Veronica’s thighs, pushing up her skirt just an inch or two. She wants to urge her closer again, to slide her hands up higher. Wants to be brave enough to do that. 

She feels Veronica’s thigh muscles tense and relax, and when she looks up Veronica’s eyes are dark and hooded, her bottom lip between her lips. 

“I’m going to enjoy the wait,” Veronica says. “Like I said, we have all the time in the world.”

This time when they kiss it’s tender and sweet, with plenty of space between their bodies. Betty wonders if that’s because if they touched again, Veronica wouldn’t be able to wait, after all. That she’d want to stay. 

But Veronica has been patient and kind and generous with Betty, so it’s her turn to do the same. 

“I look forward to next time, then,” Betty says, and it surprises Veronica into a smile, and then a laugh. 

“Cooper,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I think you’re going to be the death of me.”

Then she picks up her bag, waves over her shoulder, and Betty is left alone in her room.  


End file.
